


pins and needles

by kedda



Series: non perdere la fiducia in me [7]
Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, S2E7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 03:10:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17398892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedda/pseuds/kedda
Summary: “Marti is the same old Marti,” Gio frowns, “it’s really not complicated.”“It’s a little bit complicated,” Elia blurts, tension jumping in his jaw.---Gio and Elia talk on the way home after Marti comes out to the boys.





	pins and needles

**Author's Note:**

> cw: Elia uses the f slur anecdotally (to be clear, he does not call or refer to Marti or anyone else using that word) once.

Luca and Marti make to split off at the gate to head home towards Viale di Trastevere but Martino hesitates before leaving.  Gio, itching to make things as comfortable as possible for Martino from here on out, herds them all together into one big crushing hug.  They comply, groaning and rolling their eyes, but over the top of Elia’s head Gio sees the corner of Martino’s smile and feels a rush of affection climb up the back of his throat and he holds on tighter.  

This feeling is new; ever since Friday when Martino made a leap of faith and trusted him with this part of himself, with a part that had been hurting and hidden for so long, Gio has felt in waves an overwhelming combination of gratitude and love for his friend.  Pride, too, at the courage it must have taken to triumph over the fear Martino wore so plainly. On the windowsill earlier today Martino had trembled against his side as he brought his truth up and out into the light; under the palm of his hand now he feels Marti’s heart beat, a little fast, but steadily, and he hopes that Martino understands now.   _ Dici?  Dico. _

Eventually they part, and Luca continues whatever story he had been telling before Gio made them embrace.  Elia clears his throat and Gio sees him exchange a glance with Marti before Marti looks away.

“Anyway, I really need to head out, regà,” Marti says, grimacing, “groceries don’t buy themselves.”

“Right right, I’m coming with you,” Luca says, patting the pockets of his jeans, “but I think I lost my bus card.  Fuck.”

“Daje, Lu, really?”

“Classic Luchino,” Gio laughs, shaking his head.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Now, this is really going out on a limb here,” Elia says, finally speaking, “but could it be in your phone case?”

“Or in your wallet?  Where you usually keep it?” Martino tacks on, voice cracking slightly as he grins.  Elia’s mouth tenses into small smile and something in Marti seems to unbend. Elia, Gio realizes, has been mostly quiet since the conversation in the stairwell, relying on Luchì’s cheerful running commentary to keep the momentum going.  He and Marti seem to have made up, but something remains unaccounted for.

Luchino yelp of triumph breaks Gio from his reverie as he whips his bus pass from his wallet and waves it in the air.

“Alright,” he says, poking Marti in the arm with the card, “let’s go, I need to figure out how to fix this porn fiasco.” Luchino looks comically miserable when he says this, and Gio, Marti, and Elia all exchange a look before bursting into song.   
“ ‘ _ Tua madre lo diceva, no andare su You Porn! _ *’”  They cackle as Luca shoves at them and drags Marti away.

“You’re all assholes!” he yells, but Gio knows he’s laughing because Luchino doesn’t have a resentful bone in his body.

“You love us!” Gio grins toothily and, with a last look, he turns and hooks an arm around Elia’s neck.

“Do you have anywhere to be?”

“In bed with your mom.”

“Fuck you.  Caffè?”

“Caffè.”

 

They walk for a few minutes before the silence grows too heavy for Gio to ignore.

“Look,” Gio begins, “what’s going on with you and Marti?”

“What do you mean?” Elia frowns, looking straight ahead.  Gio shakes his head.

“I get that you’re angry because of the fight.  So was I. But you’ve heard the shit people are saying, seen the looks.”  Gio hitches his bag up on his back and breathes out through gritted teeth.  “So what gives, man?”

“I’m just trying to figure it out.”  When Gio looks over, Elia’s squinting at the ground.

“Marti is the same old Marti,” Gio frowns, “it’s really not complicated.”

“It’s a little bit complicated,” Elia blurts, tension jumping in his jaw.  “Not because - not because he’s gay. But aren’t things different now? Haven’t things changed?”   He kicks at a pebble on the sidewalk and it skitters away, off the curb and into the gutter. 

Gio thinks back to last couple weeks.  Giulia from 4A had made an offhand inquiry on Friday that Gio had dismissed because 1) it wasn’t Giulia’s fucking business, 2) Marti hadn’t even told Gio at that point, and 3) this shit wasn’t  _ new _ .  Everyone speculated about everyone else because nobody had the courage to accept other people for who they were.  If they did, they would have to accept themselves, and nobody fucking wanted to do that. Gio thinks about the asshole on the stairwell and feels briefly murderous.

“I don’t think I know what you mean,” Gio says, voice low.  Elia frowns at his cautioning tone and sighs, still pointedly looking at the ground.

“I mean that people suck.  This is how people will know Marti.  And I…” Elia stops short, jerking his head to the side.  Gio tries not to let his disappointment show as he offers a different question.

“Did you know that Marti liked boys?”

Elia shrugs, ducking his head, and Gio realizes with some bewilderment  _ he knew _ .  “I don’t know.  Maybe. I don’t think I really let myself think it.  And,” he adds on, pointing at Gio just as he’s about to open his mouth, “it’s not because I’m homophobic, or think it’s gross or some shit but everyone jokes about it.  You know that. It’s the way guys get under each other’s skin, how people deal with personal shit indirectly.” He throws his hands up. “Someone has an issue with you, or you have one with him, you say the guy’s a faggot and he punches you, and then you punch him back, and it’s over.” Gio sees something pass over Elia’s face for a fraction of a second before it vanishes.  “You know?” Gio scoffs.

“No, I _ don’t  _ know.  Have you done that before?” Gio asks, trying to catch Elia’s eye to no avail.

Elia thrusts his hands back in his jacket pockets.  “A couple times, in middle school. I realized pretty early that it’s not much of an insult though, so I traded up.”  He says it like a joke but doesn’t laugh, and Gio wonders what is going on in Elia’s head. Elia grimaces. “Anyway, yeah.  I guess I knew about Marti, but I didn’t really  _ know _ about him until today.  When he said there was this guy, that’s when things started clicking.”  

Gio and Elia had had several conversations about Marti’s weird behavior, where Elia advocated for a more proactive, direct approach, and Gio pushed to let Marti come to them.  “He knows we’re here. I don’t want to be another source of pressure, or another person he feels he has to lie to,” he’d said one time. It hadn’t been necessary to say Marti’s dishonesty had already hurt enough and letting him decide on his own saved them some of the heartache of possible rejection were they to ask upfront.

The silence between them begins to feel oppressive again, and for some reason Gio thinks of Eva and the signs that should have alerted him to her unhappiness.  His paranoia about the weed had made it impossible for him to see what had been going on with her, and now he wonders to what extent the people around him are hiding, and to what extent he is simply unable to see them.  He wonders if it’s better, sometimes, for them to remain hiding a little longer; if it helps in the long run. Marti had needed the space to be ready to trust him, and Gio had known this. The real question, he thinks now, is what happens if someone is never ready to be honest?

“I feel like shit,” Elia says finally, breathlessly.  He tilts his head back, and Gio realizes that Elia hasn’t looked at him once this entire conversation.  “I feel like shit,” Elia repeats, “because when I think about all our interactions even before the fight, about everything, about l’Argentina—”

“We really have got to start using her fucking name, man.”

“—about fucking  _ Covitti _ , I  _ get _ why he didn’t tell us earlier.  Or,” he pauses, still not looking at Gio, “tell  _ me _ earlier.”

Gio stops walking. “What do you mean?”

Elia stops a few paces ahead of him but doesn’t turn around.  It’s not like Elia to be avoidant—passive aggressive, sure, but not quiet or closed off.   _ What are you hiding Elia? _  “I don’t know, Gio.”  Elia turns, and he just sounds tired.  “Nothing, I guess. He told us eventually, and that’s what matters.”  They begin to walk again and Gio sees the cafe come into view at the next left.

“But you wish he had told you sooner.”

“I don’t - I’m not saying he should have told me sooner.  Again, I get why.”

“You wish that he’d felt comfortable telling you, though.”

Elia shrugs.  “Yeah,” and he nods once, twice, “yeah, I do.”

“And you feel like it’s your fault.”

“I mean,” Elia looks at him out of the corner of his eye, “yeah.  I’ve said a lot of shit just assuming that he was straight.” He shrugs again.

Gio breathes out as he feels some equilibrium return.  “Elia—you know he only told me Friday? This is something that he’s been on his own with for a while.”  When he got on the bus on the Monday a week after the fight he’d seen Marti with his hood up, earbuds in, staring out the window, and had been struck by a wall of relief so powerful that he had to grip the pole in front of him for support before swinging down into his seat.  But Martino’s reappearance in their lives was ghostlike; he never addressed the fact that he’d vanished for a week, or the fifty text messages from Gio lying in his inbox unread. He didn’t talk, he didn’t reach out, didn’t take Gio up on his offers to meet up together for break, after school, nothing.  He seemed to have given up, trapped in his own head, and Gio had felt desperate with not knowing what had caused it. 

Gio licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry.  “I think it’s easy to get used to, being alone in it,” he says slowly.  “It gets to a point where it doesn’t even occur to you to reach out. Hell,” Gio pushes open the glass door and the familiar warm aroma of coffee and pastry wafts over them, “it took me four months to get him to open up about what was going on at home, and we’ve known each other since we were nine.  Sometimes people just need time, Marti especially.” He pulls out a chair and settles into it.

“Marti especially,” Elia echoes, falling into the chair opposite.  They sit for a moment, and then Elia jerks a chin up and tosses Gio a menu.  “What do you want?”

 

When their coffees arrive Gio grimaces in distaste as Elia adds not two, but three sugars to his cup.

“Is this a Starbucks?” Gio scoffs and sips at his own perfectly respectable cup of coffee: a ristretto, bold and a little bitter. Elia gives him a look, and before Gio can react Elia removes the spoon from his cup and flicks the residual liquid on it at him, making Gio leap up.

“Oh come on zi, coffee is a bitch to wash out,” Gio huffs and holds his jacket out in front of him, looking for tell-tale signs of brown speckles.  “It’s times like these that I sympathize with your older brother.”

“Oh fuck right off.  Matte deserves everything he has coming to him,” Elia grumbles, tearing a piece off his croissant.  

“You can’t help it, it’s an older sibling thing.  There are some burdens that you just wouldn’t understand.”

“You know what, you’re right.  What’s it like, bearing the burden of being the absolute worst at FIFA?”

“Wow, okay, see if you get re-invited to my lake house!” Gio gasps in mock offense.

“I thought it was your aunt’s house?  And when did I get disinvited in the first place?”  Gio just grins and shakes his head, and in his peripheral vision he sees Elia smile.  He lets himself zone for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the café and the sharp, dark smell of his coffee.  It would always be comforting to know that no matter how fucked things got, coffee would remain a constant. He looks up to find Elia watching him.

“Gio, do you think Marti was ever in love with you?” Elia asks.

Gio isn’t prepared for the question and splutters.  “What? No, he said he didn’t.”

“He said he doesn’t  _ now _ , not that he never did.”  They look at each other for a moment before Gio breaks eye contact.

“No, I’m pretty sure.  I would have known, I think.  And it’s not like,” he breathes in and shrugs, raising his palms upward, “he likes every dude just because he’s gay.”

“Of course, I know, I know,” Elia rolls his eyes, “but,  _ fratè _ , you must have wondered.”

Gio’s not sure why they’re still talking about this.  “I already told you, I haven’t. I asked him when he told me he liked a boy, he said no, and that’s it.  It doesn’t have to be anything more.”

“But what if it was.  What if he did.” Elia’s questions sound like statements and Gio looks at his friend more closely, trying to see what is going on.  Elia picks up his coffee and looks at Gio over the rim of his cup for a moment, sipping, before putting it back down.

“Are you worried he likes you?” Gio asks, frowning.

Elia’s response is immediate.  “No! No,” he laughs, “I don’t think he does, and it’s not something I’d be worried about even if that were the case in some alternate universe.”

“Right.”

Elia makes an irritated gesture, as if he were attempting to sweep the discomfort between them off the table.  “Nevermind.”

Gio groans in exasperation.  “Elia, what the fuck is going on with you?  Why are you being so cagey about this? I thought you were good?”

“We are good!  I was just asking!”

Gio brings his hands together, frustrated.  “Come on zi, I’ve had enough with these secrets.  First it was that whole disaster with Eva, then there was Martino.  I’d rather we talk things out before we have to fight it out in a back alley.”  A beat passes. “Too soon?”

Elia smiles ruefully.  “I’m over it. No, I,” he pauses, pushing back against his chair, “I know I’m acting weird.  I just feel bad that he’s been having it so shitty with Niccolò, and I know things at home aren’t exactly a walk in the park.  And then on top of all that I’ve been needling him about Emma, and had that fight with him, and then ignored him for a week. Jesus.”  Elia’s face does something and Gio has the feeling that he’s avoiding the question, but he decides he won’t press him on it anymore—clearly it’s something that Elia needs to think over more before telling him.  Gio briefly wonders if Elia has feelings for a guy and if that’s why he’s being so weird about Marti, but Gio doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions, especially if it’s buried as deep as whatever Elia’s struggling with is.

“Anyway! A toast,” Elia raises his cup and Gio follows suit, “to our dear friend Marti’s health, happiness, and love life—may he only know the support and love of friends, family, and his paramour Niccolò here and forever after.”

“And may all those who object either step off or step up!” Gio adds, and together they raise their cups higher, holding aloft cheap ceramic as if they were crystal goblets.

“Hear, hear!”  Smiling, they clink and drink.

**Author's Note:**

> ...conclude what you want to conclude. Let's just all agree that while Gio is the Observant one he is also kind of the Oblivious one.
> 
> Also I'm sorry that it ended kind of abruptly - I've been sitting on this for a while (read: since that clip came out a Literal Lifetime Ago) and have decided that this is meant to be a somewhat dissatisfying conversation between two people who, despite being really close, are having difficulty communicating. The one thing they both can clearly see is that their support for Marti is unwavering! *clink*


End file.
